


Give into the moment

by Soozaphone



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soozaphone/pseuds/Soozaphone
Summary: A collection of short ficlets I've written over the past few months, and any I manage to churn out going forward.And lbr, they're probably going to be 100% stupid gladnis smut fics.





	1. Unscripted

**Author's Note:**

> Way back in september, I planned on writing daily smut drabbles. And then that didn't happen. And then Kinktober came around and between work and clinic and school it still didn't happen. So now I'm just gonna upload whatever random junk I managed to eke out over the past few months.
> 
> This was for Day 1 of "Smutember" prompts: Dirty Talk
> 
> For Tsu, who has always been my go-to-gladibro

Gladio was no stranger to bedroom talk- far from it. His deep bass and rumble seemed almost meticulously designed to growl out lewd filth and make panties and boxers alike damp and drop with little more than the sound itself. Nosing up against his partner's throat, shamelessly murmuring his plans for them against the shell of an ear, punctuated with nips and licks and passionate kisses--

Hell. He loved it. Never had much of a filter, and he was thoroughly aroused by the moans and breathless noises and begs and pleads of 'please' he'd get in return to the obscene promises made in the heat of the moment. He absolutely adored the way pupils would blow wide, lips would part in an invitation, fingers would curl and grasp at whatever they could catch. Shit, it was nice. 

And to be honest? It really made him wonder what it was like to be on the other side of it. So much so that for the past week, ever since he'd gotten the idea in his head, he'd been barely able to listen to his partner rattle off dull facts about council meetings or dryly snark about the prince's eating and studying habits without imagining that lilted accent turned to perversion. Gladio's imagination would take the idea and run, thinking about the way Ignis's tone would be slightly condescending as he'd grope at Gladio's cock. He'd still use those damn fancy words (the ones Gladio is _sure_ he's read before, but never often and never cared enough to truly look them up-) to describe the way every inch of the entrapped length would feel. Shamelessly, he'd arch one of those damnably perfect eyebrows up as though only half-impressed, and thoroughly and debauchedly describe just what he was planning to do--

Damn, but he'd get hard just thinking about it. (And honestly, once had to swiftly excuse himself to take care of the problem while Ignis had been talking about something or another that he really couldn't bring himself to pay attention to. Not when he could watch those lips move and lose himself to the depths of his own thoughts, instead.) And despite their fairly active sex life, despite how much and how well the other man pleased him (and he liked to think he did the same in return-) Gladio still couldn't manage to get the idea out of his head, or stop thinking about how to make it a reality.

And sure- there had been a time in the past, when they'd first moved past flirtation and lingering glances, that Gladio had assumed Ignis would be on the prudish side. He'd guessed that the guy's sense of decorum and protocol would transfer over to every aspect of his life, leaving him untested and entirely too proper at times, someone who would have to be worked into things... and Gladio could not have been more happy to have been immediately and thoroughly proven completely wrong. However, the lean man still had an impeccable amount of restraint- and while clever and curious and willing to give most anything a go once suggested, it would take some prompting to really get him to fully lower those walls, and probably even a bit more than that to have him actually verbalize extensively during sex. 

But Gladio had never been one to back down from a challenge: which is what brings him to this very moment, laying back on mussed sheets that are steadily growing damp with sweat, rolling his hips lazily up into the body perched atop him and reveling in the short, hitched groaning noise it elicits. His fingers curl and grip into lean hipbones, sure to leave faint bruises as a reminder of the way they grind against one another, somewhere between lazy and desperate. He takes in a deep breath as Ignis places a bracing palm on a broad pectoral muscle, the other man using it as leverage to roll his own hips halfway up off of the larger man's cock, and then back down.

"Talk to me, Iggy-" He starts off with what he hopes is a casual rumble- sex-strained and slightly breathless, even if the man atop him is content to be doing all the work this time. There's a pleased groan at the tail end of his words as amber eyes flutter closed for just a moment as that tight heat envelopes him fully once again. God, he will never get used to how masterfully Ignis knows how to work him. "Tell me how it is." And there's that signature growl, bordering on the edge of cocky, plying and prompting to try and get the other man to open up and speak back to him.

At the words, Ignis pauses for just a moment, brows coming together. It probably would have been a crippling glare of incredulity, were he not so currently focused on angling his hips and pacing the working of his muscles just right in search of release, erection occupying most of the bloodflow that would ordinarily be reserved for his mind… and if his glasses weren't currently tossed somewhere onto a bedside table. Ignis's lips press together for a moment, before he finally manages out: "What?"

It's not the response he'd hoped for, but it's the one he should have expected. 

Gladio rocks his hips up again, a bit more powerfully this time, momentarily basking in the way Ignis's body shudders over him, before he continues. "I wanna hear you say it- How my dick feels." Much later in hindsight, Gladio would realize that mid-fucking was not, perhaps, the best place to initially bring up his idea. But for now, it's what he wants to hear as he gets closer to getting off. He wants that husky voice and meticulous accent swearing or reduced to baser terms, half out of his head and murmuring about how it all feels, how close he is, what he needs and wants--

But instead, Ignis huffs out a breath- frustrated, probably, that he was being distracted when so close to the end. Both hands are placed on Gladio's chest as he shifts his weight and adjust his pace- and damn, even if he's not in the mood to play along with Gladio's fantasy being suddenly sprung upon him, he makes a gorgeous sight. The sweat at his hairline causing his typically-pristine spikes to fall gracelessly, brows knit and muscles tensing and releasing as he moves himself, nude save for those damned stupid long trouser socks and the elastic-and-brass garters snugly fit about his calves to hold them up even now. Plush lips part to take in a ragged breath, red and kiss-swollen, and those vibrant green eyes fall closed for a moment.

"Unwieldy."

Gladio groans, letting his head fall back. Damn it. How could one guy be so fucking hot and perfect, ride a cock near-expertly, and yet be such a buzzkill at the same time. "--Iggy you're killing me here,"

"You asked." And the harsh tone speaks more to how close he is than to any measure of annoyance with Gladio. His fingers arch and tighten, nails raking across Gladio's chest, leaving thin pink lines in their wake, as he curls and barely manages to contain a guttural cry. Finally managed to consistently hit his prostate, Gladio figures, from the way the strategist hones in on it. And so he opts to keep his mouth shut for the moment, tightening his grip on the other man's hips and trying to focus his own movements. His shifts one hand to where the other man's cock hits his stomach with every motion, hard and dark and neglected, the head dripping. When he closes his fingers around Ignis's erection, the other man lets out a wordless cry- still somewhat quiet, but earnestly felt.

Even if it's not _exactly_ what he was wanting, it's still a gorgeous sight- watching Ignis finally just go for it, fucking himself on Gladio's lap desperately. And when he finally tenses and shudders and gives those breathless moaning noises as he comes, it's still worth it. Every fucking time.

Maybe next time he'd give Ignis enough heads up for the other man to write a script.


	2. Good enough for now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brotherhood-era: Ignis fantasizes about Gladio after training. (This was for another of the smutember prompts that I never did finish, lol)

It was almost routine for Ignis now. Twice a week, he had dedicated training sessions to hone his skills in combat: two hours set aside to meet with the prince's shield, typically alternating between drills and sparring, on top of his own private exercises. He'd typically get knocked over or clipped with a wooden training blade more than once (after all, he was still improving his own technique and style, while Gladio had been fighting since he could walk-) but lately had been making more progress in getting Gladio off-balance, working on surprising him and catching him unawares. Regardless of the outcome, his routine would always conclude with the two of them amicably parting ways, Ignis returning to his small apartment in the Citadel's grounds, taking a shower, and furiously masturbating to the idea of the Prince's Shield fucking him roughly on the floor of the training room.

Today he'd been slow in a dodge- Gladiolus was much quicker than his size and weapon choice would lead one to believe. He'd moved with it to minimize the impact, just as he'd been taught, though had still caught a solid impact to the top of his thigh. Of course, Gladio had immediately stopped and come to his side, given a sad, apologetic smile as he offered a hand up, been willing to make sure there were no lasting injuries. Just a large, shallow bruise- one that had truly started to ache by the time Ignis had left the shower. As always, he presses his fingertips to it gently, just enough for it to feel sore- and as always, he _relishes_ it.

He imagines this is what it would feel like in the hours after a rough, merciless bout with the man. Hands gripping his hips to keep him just so, breathless and desperate and entranced as he thrusts into the smaller man. (Ignis never needs much imagination, there. The way Gladio watches him during their training is more than enough- Amber eyes practically on fire, locked on Ignis's every move. The way his breath comes quicker as he moves and fights far more gracefully than his broad frame should allow.) 

In the present and in reality, Ignis lets his eyes fall close as he tilts his head back against the door of his bedroom. He should really fully undress and get into bed for this, but the ideas are entirely too tantalizing. His skin is still warm and damp from the shower, and despite the cloth t-shirt he has to sleep in, he can feel the chill of the wood against his back. His one hand remains crossed in front of him, pressing lightly against the growing bruise on the opposite thigh- he alternates the pressure and place, even as his other hand slides down from his navel and under his waistband, to where he's already hard just from the light touches and the thoughts.

He wouldn't mind it: being left bruised and aching and sore, the intimate reminders of even more intimate actions. Soft, claiming marks hidden underneath his clothes for no one else to see or know. Dark love bites, bruises in the shape of fingers, a sting and ache to his muscles. At that thought, he finally lets his fingertips graze across the skin of his cock, biting down on his bottom lip and restraining a groan. Gods. It's only been two days since his last instance of this routine: training and sparring and immediately going home and fantasizing about the other man... but right now, it feels as though it's been an eternity. And so he leans his weight back against the door more heavily, fully taking himself in hand and shifting his boxers down just enough to free himself and let him stroke more fully. Some nights he's a bit more adventurous- digs out a bottle of lotion and slicks himself up as much as the improv lubricant will let him, presses his fingertips into himself and shudders and shivers against the sheets at the sensation, tries to imagine it would be anything close to what it would feel like to take Gladio's cock into himself. (It wouldn't- he knows that much, having seen Gladio change in the locker room. Hell, even just Gladio's fingers are practically twice as thick as his own-)

But he feels too hot, too needy tonight, satisfied enough with curling his hand into a fist around his own cock. His fingers are loose at first, dragging lightly over the soft skin there, occasionally rolling over the head or rubbing gently just underneath it. Ignis's own fingers are slender and soft from his tendency towards gloves- nothing like how Gladio's sword-roughened, calloused hands would feel like. So he puts that thought from his mind and thinks again of their sparring that day, instead of how the physical reality of his own palm doesn't match with what his mind craves. He thinks of the sound of the man's panting laughs and playful goading. The way sweat would bead right at his hairline, making his tan skin practically sheen. The occasional drop would slip down his temple or the back of his neck, and his thin workout shirt would grow damp between the shoulderblades, between his pecs, and under the arms. Hell, every time he'd get close enough during their fight, Ignis could _smell_ him, that scent of exertion and leather and sweat- one that was uniquely Gladio, and one he had to fiercely ignore while they were in public, so that he wouldn't have to excuse himself and shamefully jack off in a public restroom to alleviate his tensions.

(Maybe he should feel badly about objectifying his friend and coworker like this. On that note, maybe he should eventually work up the courage to seek more from the other man- try and initiate something more than their casual friendship. But honestly, he doesn't see either situation as likely to happen. After all, as flirtatious and kind as Gladio is, it's simply his nature, just as its Ignis's nature to be overly practical and focused on duty, as opposed to want.)

He finally moves his hand from the bruises to join its twin at his cock- gripping the base of the shaft and rocking his hips up into it with soft grunts, fingertips dipping down to gently press and roll at the sack underneath as his strokes grow more desperate. There's no sense or need in teasing himself overly long, and the longer he takes the more likely his mind is to run away from him, make him more aware of the reality of the situation: that he's a desperate, untouched teenager fantasizing about his lifelong coworker. And really, that would just ruin the mood. So he takes his lower lip between his teeth to keep in the breathless groan that threatens to escape his throat, letting that heat and energy build and coil in his belly, each stronger sensation making his thigh twitch and breath stutter.

It doesn't take too long, picturing the other man's abs glistening with sweat, the low, rough tone of his voice, imagining how he'd growl out words and promises and delights. He manages not to cry out, instead his knees shaking as he slips down the door of his bedroom, muscles locking up for a few moments as his senses seem to roar and dull all at once, coming gracelessly onto his own stomach and thighs. (And likely some spots on the carpet, too, and he'll have to remember to take care of that before climbing into bed-)

It's satisfying, if only for the moments immediately following his release. Head tilted back against the door, one hand cupping his softening cock, the other lightly pressing again on the shallow bruises at his thigh: his private souvenirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the idea of brohood-era ignis being a thirsty bitch cracks me up ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Worth 1000 words (and all of them are filthy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn to ask nicely before taking pictures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i think i wrote this back in january or february or something for Tsu when they were having a rough day. Who even knows. It's sitting on my hard drive, so it's getting thrown up here.

Gladio doesn't know how he got so damn lucky.

The two had danced around one another for so long: Him pressing with smirks and winks and flirtatious comments, and the strategist-in-training with reserved blushes and hesitancy. He'd expected to have to work at it to earn anything more than that, sure- expected time spent together, either at the palace or his own home or out and about, expected it to take a while to ease this workaholic nerd out of his shell and comfortable with the idea of dating him, a coworker. And then even longer into the thought of having more direct and conscious and purposeful contact than what was afforded to them in their sparring bouts. More than just the touch of hands or shoulders, more than just those shy, but interested glances when passing the Prince back and forth between them.

He'd been expecting to have to really, truly work for what he wanted, and he'd been alright with that. Patience was good, something that had always been instilled in him, something that made rewards all that sweeter.

But gods-damn, he can't imaging it being any sweeter than this, groaning as he leans back on his elbows, that lithe body nestled between his thighs and shoving them apart with gloved hands. The slender man is all but curled over his pelvis, lips taut and wet as he presses down further on his engorged cock. His glasses are gone, having been plucked from his nose well beforehand, and his hair is a mess, from where Gladio's fingers had ruffled and run through the strands.

(It hadn't taken nearly as much time or effort than he'd thought, to get from Point A [flirting] to Point B [getting blowjobs]. He'd found that Ignis's tendency to learn and implement ideas quickly translated quite nicely to their relationship. While there had been the initial reservations and awkward fumbling, it had taken nothing more than the first suggestion before he was willing to make an attempt.)

“Haa- Fuck, Iggy-” Gladio's own deep timbre is appreciative and wanting, letting his head fall back as he drowns in those sensations over his cock- tight lips, a tongue exploring and tasting him thoroughly as though for the first time all over again, the other man taking his time to press at every ridge and roll of skin and vein and nerve. There doesn't seem to be a bit of shame in the sounds, either- from every short, pleased hum that buzzes over those lips and up into him, to the way any adjustment of stretched lips has a wet, sucking noise to it. He's still not been able to reach the base, the few times they've tried this, but damn, Gladio can't even bring himself to care, not with the way Ignis curls gloved fingers over the parts of his shaft he can't quite reach--

Or even goes so far as to draw up and remove his mouth entirely, just to decadently lick up the whole of the underside with the flat of his tongue, green eyes flickering upwards to catch the response it earns. (Another groan, a fisting of hands in sheets, Gladio's head falling back again with a curse and a vehemence and his name-) But just as quickly those eyes fall back closed, and Ignis wraps his mouth over the head of his cock again, beginning once more to work his way down on the shaft as that thin covering of leather over his fingers drags and draws upwards towards his lips in a slow cadence.

But Gladio had caught that faint blush of pink that had risen across his nose and cheekbones- and he can't stop himself from staring at how damned gorgeous this is. The typically uptight, meticulously dressed adviser to the Prince so compliant and willing to please, with the faint sheen of sweat on his skin and his lips reddened and swollen as he works inch by inch down the hot length before him, as though he wanted nothing more in this moment than to conquer the cock in his mouth.

The thought surfaces subtly and abruptly: He needs a memento of this.

With another appreciative noise, Gladio moves a hand down through those locks of hair again- smoothly petting, brushing them back and to the side with cursed endearments that mean nothing, only meant to encourage each movement and lick and suck. His other is fumbling to the side, as quietly and gently as he can, to find his phone. Just a quick shot of this, to remember it, or maybe to glance at and study again when they're separated by duty, and when time and privacy affords. Again, his broad hand pets through that hair, and he exhales- which only serves to define the muscles of his own abdomen more as they tense. It's the perfect moment to capture: Ignis with that hint of blush juxtaposed with the sheer eager willingness in the way he holds Gladio's cock between his lips, the black leather of his gloves visible in how he grips the base, and--

_**[Click!]**_

It would have been surreptitiously taken, had the _sound_ been turned off.

Gladio freezes, phone still held in hand, as Ignis's eyes flash open to stare directly up at him. That pale green, previously so misted and lusting, turns completely frozen and icy, and it's almost in slow motion that Gladio sees his lips draw back and jaw start to relax, just enough to glimpse the faintest hint of bright white against his dick-

And to _feel_ the light touch of teeth to flesh. No pressure, no biting, but an unspoken warning all the same.

Shit.

“Uh-” He can feel heat rise in his own cheeks at this silent staredown-- and shit, he hadn't expected to ever get that intense of a glare. Slowly, the hand with the phone drops back down towards his own chest- and stupidly, he manages a nervous, lopsided smirk. “I just. Thought it looked good.”

Ignis is quick to rise and let the other man's aching cock drop from his lips, let it rest neglected against his stomach- dark, red, swollen, and glistening with the mix of saliva and pre-come. But the strategist ignores it as he puts a hand past Gladio's hips, pressing into his space to pluck the phone away quickly with his typical fluid grace. “Let me see.” 

“Iggy, look, I'll d-”

“Hush.”

It feels like an eternity that he's laying back on the edge of his mattress, heart pounding beneath his sternum, and watching the way Ignis looks over the quick picture he'd taken. If it hadn't been such a dire situation, he might have been able to appreciate the unkempt look on the other man- shirt halfway unbuttoned, arousal evident despite the way it had been tucked to a side in a more manageable position. His skin is still flushed pink and red, and that constant intensity is back in his eyes, staring down at the other man's phone.

After several seconds of silence, Gladio sighs and sits up. “Look, I'll delete it, I just-”

“You will. This is absolutely unflattering.” Ignis frowns, and Gladio can't help but notice and adore the way he holds the screen a little closer than usual to make up for his lack of glasses. After a moment, he nods and presses it back into Gladio's hands. “Take another.”

He accepts the phone, but still hasn't quite caught up. “I'll-- what?”

“Take another.” Ignis is already moving back to his position kneeling on the floor, idly gripping Gladio's erection again in that gloved hand and giving it a teasing pump, just enough to keep that ache at bay. “And spend a bit more time choosing the angle. My forehead looked absolutely gigantic in that one.”

A grin is all the response Gladio is capable of before those lips move down on him again. How in all of Eos did he manage to get so damn lucky?


End file.
